


half the world away

by restless5oul



Series: yesterday we were just children [10]
Category: Formula 1 RPF, GP2 Series RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Almost smut, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Confused boys, Family Feels, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, good news is received, mostly happy, oblivious boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 11:00:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12011325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restless5oul/pseuds/restless5oul
Summary: it doesn't matter if the distance is a breath, or an ocean. it all feels the same.





	half the world away

**Author's Note:**

> two in one day, damn.

The camp was a lot smaller than Charles had originally thought. There were probably only three hundred people there, maybe four hundred when he counted those lying in the temporary hospital. But it just seemed to prove to Charles how few people had survived. He couldn’t quite comprehend how lucky he was to have found Pierre there, when the odds were so stacked against their survival. Every time he remembered his brother’s face, and the horrified way he’d told Charles that he had given up hope that he was even alive, he felt an unpleasant twisting of his stomach. Though he should have been pleased that they were together again, and he was, more than he could comprehend, to imagine Pierre believing he was dead for all those months was too horrible for him to dwell on for more than a few moments.

But he could see it on his brother’s face whenever he looked at him. He could see so clearly that something had changed inside him. Something that could only partly be explained by the scars on his arms and stomach that Charles sometimes saw peeking out from behind his clothing. Charles could see it when Pierre wasn’t looking his way, when he was handing out orders or questioning the doctors on why Charles was being kept in the hospital even after Mick and Juan had been given the all clear to leave.

According to the nurse that had assessed him, he was showing early signs of malnutrition, and he therefore had to spend four days and five nights lying in a creaky bed with a drip attached to his arm, feeding into his blood everything that he had missed out on in the past several months. He had grown so used to the sensation of fatigue and hunger that the rest and three square meals a day felt foreign to him. It also annoyed him to no end, stuck in bed whilst Juan and Mick got to actually do _something_. He was fairly certain that Mick should have been kept behind with him, but he had listened to him lie to the nurse; telling her that he slept just fine.

It did mean he could keep Jüri company, who was doing much better now he was being given regular doses of antibiotics, and who was becoming something like his old self as he chatted away at Charles when he wasn’t sleeping.

Juan and Mick sat up with them whenever they had a spare minute, going to see them first thing in the morning, and staying long after everyone was supposed to have left the hospital. Mark – the doctor whom Charles vaguely recognised, and he had been told was Mitch's godfather – turned a blind eye and let them stay as long as they liked, only kicking them out the one time; when Mick had fallen asleep on the end of Charles’ bed.

They told them about all the questions they had been asked – where they had come from, what they had been doing, whether they had come into contact with any of the zombies, and what they could offer the camp. They also told them about the military issue tents they had been put up in, which Juan endlessly moaned about, claiming that they were too cold and to small.

Stoffel had sat and talked with Charles for hours on that first night, appearing just hours after they had arrived, and looking almost as pleased to see him as Pierre had. He talked about the work he was doing, trying to help build a communications system, for so long that by the time he finished Jüri had woken up and had propped his head up to listen. He didn’t go into specifics, but Charles could tell from the way that he talked about his brother that he was worried about him. And that Charles wasn’t the only one who had noticed that something was irreversibly different about Pierre.

When he was finally told he could leave the hospital, Charles said goodbye to Jüri who was looking rather disappointed at the prospect of being left alone.

“We’ll come see you later,” Charles promised, laughing lightly at his friend’s pout.

“You better.”

Charles was led through the camp by a boy who couldn’t be much older than him, but claimed that Pierre had told him to take him to the tent where Mick and Juan were staying. He led Charles through rows of tents and temporary buildings, weaving his way between them with the confidence of someone who knew the camp inside out. In some ways Charles was glad to be part of something bigger, to feel the responsibility shift from his shoulders. But it also felt suffocating and claustrophobic after so much time feeling like he was one of the only people left alive. It was even harder to comprehend that this camp was one of several up and down the country. 

The boy pointed him in the direction of a large, green canvas tent, the opening flapping the harsh wind, revealing someone moving around inside. Charles thanked him, before pushing his way inside. 

Juan wasn’t there, but Mick was, sat on one of the camp beds, hunched over, holding onto a dark green shirt in his hands, holding it so tight that it had crumpled in his grasp. It was identical to the one that hung off his small shoulders, and was clearly meant to match the pair of heavy duty boots that sat on the floor by the bed. A pair that probably belonged on Mick’s bare feet.

“Hi,” Charles said, raising his voice so it could be heard over the wind that seemed to roar now that he was inside the tent.

Mick jumped, snapping his head up, looking startled, before he realised who it was standing in the doorway of his tent. He had a strange expression on his face, like his mind had been miles away before Charles had spoken. 

“You’re out,” he sounded surprised, but not disappointed to see him. He dropped the shirt he was holding as Charles closed the distance between them a little.

“Yep, I’m not dying anymore apparently,” Charles returned the small smile Mick sent his way.

“You still look skinny as anything though,” Mick said as Charles sat down next to him, poking him in the ribs that still stuck out too far as  the thin mattress sank under both of their weight.

“Pierre said the exact same thing,” Charles chuckled, watching as Mick turned his face away from him, suddenly immensely interested in the faded blanket that was folded on the end of the bed. Charles frowned as he watched him picked at a loose thread, unable to see his face anymore.

“How’s Jüri?” Mick asked, his voice sounding a little strained, but for what reason Charles couldn’t tell.

“Frustrated that he has to stay in longer. But better,” Charles answered, trying to work out what was bothering Mick, but it was impossible to tell when all he could see was his bowed head.

There was a pause in which Mick took a deep breath.

“Did Stoffel tell you his news?” he finally said, turning back to look at Charles, who was relieved to see that he wasn’t crying, as he had feared for a second. But there was still an unreadable expression on his face, his mouth a twisted grimace, his brow furrowed.

Charles just shook his head. He had seen Stoffel last night, but he hadn’t told him anything particularly noteworthy. Unless Mick was referring to his indepth ramblings about Pierre’s eyes. But he somehow doubted it. 

“This morning he, uh-…they managed to pick up a satellite signal, and they got a message,” he said, looking down at his hands. Charles felt his heart leap. So far the only communication they had was with the other camps, and all that had done was confirm that whilst nowhere was quite as devastated as London, the entire country was in total shutdown. If this was from somewhere else, Europe or maybe America, then this would be their first news of what was going on beyond Britain’s shores. So Charles couldn’t figure out why Mick didn’t seem to think this was good news.

“From where?” Charles asked, his anticipation slipping into his tone, “What did the message say?”

“He couldn’t tell me exactly what it said, I don’t have the clearance. But the only reason he told me at all was because the message came from Switzerland.”

Then Charles understood a little more. Of course Stoffel was probably told to keep it to himself. They couldn’t have rumours spreading, creating panic and false hope. But if he knew where Mick was from then it made sense why he would tell him that. News of home was everyone’s deepest desire nowadays.

“He said he’d ask for my family, and put out that I’m here. But he didn’t say anything else,” Mick continued. But he still didn’t look pleased.

“This is good news though right?” Charles said, trying to look hopeful, and trying to project some of that onto Mick’s crestfallen demeanour. 

“I don’t know, it's a long shot,” Mick shrugged, sniffing a little, “And I don’t know if I want to ask just in case I don’t get the right answer. I don’t think I could take knowing if they’re n-not…if they’re not even alive.”

“But if they are?”

Mick paused, worrying his lips together.

“Seeing you and Pierre the other day. It just made me…” he sighed heavily, a sound that Charles felt in his own heart, “I want that so badly. I just want to see them again, or even just hear their voices. I want it so bad, that seeing you and Pierre i-it actually made me angry, because I thought I would never get that. I don’t want to try to find out only to be disappointed. I don’t want to be left alone.” 

“You’re not alone Mick,” Charles turned his face so he could look him in the eyes, even if it meant staring at the heartbreak that he saw in them.

When Mick leant in, Charles thought he was moving to press his face into his chest, the way he usually did whenever he hugged someone, seeking comfort and warmth from the contact. He didn’t expect him to tilt his head so he could press his lips to Charles’. Though he knew it was for the same reasons; for comfort, for reassurance, there was no warmth in the way he pressed their mouths together, and nothing gentle to be found there. Still Charles felt himself respond, felt his free hand grab Mick’s where it had been placed on the side of his face, and he let Mick push up against him further and further, until their noses bumped together and their bodies were pushed flush up against each other.

He didn’t know what Mick was trying to get from it, he didn’t know what he was looking for either. He just felt compelled to keep going, to press his tongue up against Mick’s closed lips until he parted them wide enough so Charles could slip inside, swallowing the small moan that worked its way up from the back of Mick’s throat. He let Mick press his back against the hard mattress, that groaned as his weight sank against it, and in turn he let Charles’ hand on his back creep under his shirt, his fingertips working their way up the vertebrae.

A shudder ran up his own spine when Mick pulled back a little, inhaling in a way that came out as a gasp, in that split second when he pulled back, Charles could see that his eyes were closed, his cheeks tinted pink. All his traitorous mind could think about was how beautiful he looked, completely undone in a way he had never seen before, and he almost said so, but was saved from himself when Mick captured his lips with his own again. He kissed Charles with a renewed force, drawing a groan from his mouth as he dug in his fingers around his sharp hip bone, sending a jolt of heat straight to his groin.

Maybe if he’d imagined this beyond fleeting thoughts he had when Mick’s touch lingered too long, or when he sent him one of those looks that seemed to be reserved for him alone. Maybe if he’d thought about it more then he would have expected fireworks in his mind or electricity in his bloodstream, and some insatiable feeling in his heart that meant this was something more than two boys who didn’t know why they were doing what they were. But the world had robbed him of romantic notions. 

“Mick! I-…! _Fuck_!” the voice startled Charles and he turned his head to see Stoffel standing in the doorway looking very embarrassed. Like he was emerging from deep water, his head cleared and he felt his face flush as he realised the compromising position he had been caught in by his brother’s boyfriend. Feeling way too breathless to feign innocence he saw that Mick had gone bright red too and was trying to pull his shirt down where Charles had pushed it up, attempting to clamber off the boy in question at the same time.

“Sorry I-I didn’t,” Stoffel stammered, averting his eyes guiltily, as the two boys sat up, Charles feeling his heart still beating ten to the dozen.

“It’s okay, it’s uh, not…never mind, don’t worry,” Mick’s voice broke as he spoke, clearing his throat as he attempted to adopt an air of casualness, bug failing badly. Charles couldn’t shake the sensation of Mick’s lips on his that already clung onto his body like a half formed memory. It made it very hard to look Stoffel in the eye, especially when his pants suddenly felt uncomfortably tight around his crotch. 

“I just wanted to tell you that we got a reply,” Stoffel’s own cheeks were pink and he still looked at the ground as he spoke. But his words made it easier for Charles to put his awkwardness to one side. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mick stiffen, and he resisted the urge to reach out to him, feeling the waves of panic coming from him.

“Yes?” Mick’s voice was a tiny, terrified whisper. Stoffel looked up and Charles saw that he was grinning.

“The reply was from your sister. We want to try establish proper contact, but it didn’t seem right to do it without you.”

Mick barely reacted at first. Charles couldn’t see his face, but from Stoffel’s expectant expression, he could tell that he hadn't responded nonverbally.

“When?” was all he said.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Stoffel said, eying Mick’s bare feet and dishevelled appearance, “I’ll wait outside.”

Like he was eager to get going, or at least escape the awkward tension of the tent, he slipped through the opening, and Charles could see his silhouette through the thin canvas material where he stood waiting. He looked at Mick who had sat down and picked up one of his shoes, but not made a move to put it on. Charles subtly tried to straighten his own t-shirt before he spoke.

“Are you okay?” he asked warily, and that seemed to snap him from his reverie.

“Yeah I’m just…” he shook his head, like he could shake some sense into himself, “I’m just nervous.”

Charles nodded, standing up as Mick hurried to shove on his shoes and tuck his shirt back into his trousers. Once he looked more presentable, he jumped to his feet, before he seemed to remember what had happened just before Stoffel had walked in. Charles on the other hand, was having a hard time not remembering.

“About-…” Mick started, but Charles interrupted him.

“We can talk about it later,” Charles said, subconsciously rubbing his thumb against his slightly swollen bottom lip, “This is more important.”

“Will you come with me?” Mick asked, the question seeming to burst forward from his mouth, like he was betraying himself by asking it. There was never a doubt what Charles’ answer would be, but he was so glad he had asked, he would have hated more than anything if things had suddenly got awkward between them.

“Of course.”

Charles followed Mick and Stoff closely, half-listening as Stoffel explained about the single message they received to the one he had put out about Mick. He also explained how the more generic one hadn’t.

“Did she say anything about my parents?” Mick butted in to the middle of Stoffel’s rant about the mechanisms behind the call they were going to make, clearly uninterested in that part.

“No, just her name and that she was your sister basically,” Stoffel shrugged, "Does she work with the Swiss government? We're not sure, but that's roughly where we the message came from we think, Bern."

"No, but my mother did," Mick said quietly, like he was trying very hard not to get his hopes up. Charles tried not to dwell on the revelation, wracking his brains to see if he could remember if this was something he had talked about before. Knowing Mick, it was likely he hadn't.

Stoffel to the guard outside the door they were about to enter, which gave him to cue to let him past. The Belgian pushed Mick in ahead of him, but when Charles tried to follow the guard put his hand out to stop him. 

“Hey!” he protested, glaring at the stony faced guard.

“He’s with us,” Stoffel tried to explain but the guard just shook his head.

“He doesn’t have clearance to be in here.”

“Neither do I,” Mick pointed out.

“That’s different,” the guard argued poorly, clearly having been told why Mick was there, and why they needed him. Charles rolled his eyes, the longer they waited, the more agitated Mick seemed to get, they couldn’t afford to mess around.

“He’s Pierre’s little brother,” Stoff tried, and Charles could tell that his brother had earned himself a lot of respect with the people in the camp, but it was clearly not enough to sway the guard, who shook his head again.

“I won’t do this if he’s not with me,” Mick said, surprising everyone who heard him. Charles couldn’t tell if he was bluffing. If everything he had just said about how desperately he wanted to talk to his family had been true, then he would find it hard to believe that he would give that up just to have Charles by his side while he did it.

Charles was about to protest, to suggest that he wait outside, when the guard sighed and lifted his hand, clearing the way for Charles to go in.

“Uh, thanks,” Charles said, a little surprised, but glad nonetheless.

The room they entered was a bustle of activity, Stoffel told Charles and Mick to stand at the back while he went to set things up. Most people in the room were stood around a circular table in the middle of the dimly lit room, save for one young man, who stood to one side, furiously scrubbing at several pieces of machinery until they shined when they caught in the light. Charles watched as Stoffel helped the older men clear the table, which clearly housed documents not for their eyes, leaving behind a huge machine that looked like a cross between a computer and a television. He was aware of some of the people in the room glancing at him and Mick occasionally, particularly the younger man that stood alone.

“You good?” Charles whispered to Mick, noticing how he was staring off into space, almost able to hear his brain ticking overtime.

“I don’t know why I’m so scared,” he said, his voice as quiet as Charles’.

“I’d be terrified too.”

The idea of speaking to what might be the only surviving member of your family was bizarrely nerve wrecking enough without having to do it in front of a room full of people – even if they couldn’t understand German. Charles lamely patted Mick on the elbow, unsure of where their boundaries now lay, but he saw Mick’s shoulders drop a little, a sign it had relaxed him at least.

“Mick!” Stoffel called out gently, motioning for him to come over. Charles was going to stay put, but he felt a hand tugging on his and saw Mick was dragging him along behind him, and he tried hard not to trip over his own feet as he followed.

All too quickly, a receiver was pressed into Mick’s free hand, and someone pressed a button on the machine, making all the lights on it flash and it began to whir as it clearly booted up. Charles felt the grip on his hand tighten until he had to fight not to wince at how vice like Mick’s grip was.

“Okay, you just need to talk into this, if there’s a reply, it’ll come from here,” one of the men explained, pointing at the receiver and then at the machine.

There were three loud beeps emitted from the machine during which time Charles’ heart was almost beating out of his chest in anticipation, he could hardly imagine how Mick was feeling. Though it was difficult when his fingers were being crushed, Charles attempted to give Mick’s hand an encouraging squeeze.

The beeps stopped and nearly everyone in the room looked at Mick, which he took as he cue to speak.

“ _Hallo_. _Wer ist da?_ ” Mick’s voice was audibly nervous, and the German sounded strange to Charles’ ears, though it rolled off his friend’s tongue effortlessly. There were a few awful seconds where no sound came through the machine and Charles could sense Mick beginning to panic. Running his thumb across the back of Mick’s hand, he was tempted to saw something when the sound of deafening static came from the machine, follow by a female voice.

“ _Mick?_ ”

Charles looked at his friend, a hopeful smile growing on his face, but not daring to say a word or move a muscle until Mick did. His friend stared at the machine for a second, looking shell shocked before he raised the receiver to his mouth again.

“ _Gina?_ ” his tone was sceptical, but there was an optimism there that Charles rarely heard from Mick.

“ _Ja, ich bins,_ ” the voice on the other side of the call sounded relieved and excited in equal measure, and Mick just laughed, in that disbelieving kind of way. Charles’ heart swelled and he felt himself exhale a huge breath. Once Mick had let go of his hand, he sat back, smiling to himself.

He just listened as Mick and his sister began to talk at top speed, unable to understand a word they were saying, but able to draw enough meaning from the sound of their voices. Charles watched as Stoffel scrawled something on a scrap of paper, pushing it in front of Mick, clearly prompting him to ask something important. Besides from this being a decent thing for them to do for Mick, there was the inescapable knowledge that they needed to know what was going on as well. From the corner of his eye Charles could see that the blond boy who sat apart from the group was scribbling on a notepad rapidly, most likely transcribing what was being said, and Charles could only assume that he was one of the only people they could find who spoke fluent German.

Too soon, a light began to flash on the side of the machine, and Stoffel tapped Mick on the arm.

“We’re going to lose signal soon,” he told him, looking sorry that they had to wrap things up.

The change in Mick’s tone, the urgency and speed he spoke with told Charles that he was trying to say as much as he could, to fit his goodbyes in before time run out. The light went out on the machine, the background static disappeared as the machine fell silent, and Mick placed the receiver back into Stoff’s hand.

“ _Dank_ -…thank you,” he said quietly, his voice filled with emotion, but also somehow calmer than he had in a long time, “Do you need me to…?”

Mick gesticulated, but the man who had been writing furiously spoke up for the first time.

“I got it all, don’t worry,” his accent was near identical to Mick’s, perhaps a little stronger, and he had a soft smile that radiated reassurance as he held up the notepad he had been writing in.

“You can go now,” Stoffel told Mick, nodded towards Charles as well.

The two of them exited the building the way they had come in, in silence as Mick digested what had just happened, and Charles let him, not wanting to spoil this moment for them. But when they were about halfway back to the tent he couldn’t hold in his curiosity any longer.

“So…” he started, his words slow and deliberate.

“She’s okay,” Mick said, still looking amazed at the whole thing, but his eyes shone with delight, tears of happiness building within them, “They’re alive.”

“Oh Mick,” Charles couldn’t hide the grin from his face as a warm kind of happiness buzzed inside of him as he watched Mick smile wider than he had ever seen.

“I’m just…really happy,” Mick didn't seem quite able to find the words to describe how he was feeling as he tucked one arm around Charles’ waist, and he mirrored the action by wrapping his around Mick’s shoulders, pulling him into his side, holding him in a half hug as they walked.

“I’m happy for you too,” he whispered into the top of his head, pressing his lips to the soft hair. Things were far from okay. But things were getting better at the very least.


End file.
